The Eloquence of Blood by Judith Rock

sell, monsieur . We must do with it what its giver asked. What is your name?”
    The man froze like a wary animal. Then his sinewy hand shot out and snatched the green coat, and he limped away with surprising speed. The boys began to murmur indignantly, but Charles hushed them.
    â€œDo you think men always control their fate?” he asked reprovingly, and reminded them of all the things that could bring an ordinary man to begging. Sin, surely, but also simple ill luck, sickness of body or mind, all the misfortunes that crushed a man as though he were a flea. No matter how much the flea might pray, some impious voice said in Charles’s mind. Then a clutch of women surrounded by crying, shivering children pushed their way to the front of the crowd, and for the next half hour, he and the boys were too busy for thinking.
    By the time the store of alms was gone, the final blessing given, and the great doors shut, the short winter afternoon was already beginning to fade. The boys put the walnut table back in the salon and gathered around Charles. He led them in prayers of thanksgiving to the Virgin, finished with an Ave, and dismissed them to their waiting tutors. Before anyone else could want him for something, he was through the postern and on his way to the Place Maubert police commissaire and the rue Perdue.
    The commissaire was not at home. His sergent , of course, had no idea where Lieutenant-Général La Reynie might be found. Henri Brion was still not at home, either. The maidservant took him up to the salon , where Mlle Brion and M. Callot rose from their chairs on either side of the fire to greet him. Isabel Brion was dressed in black now. Her eyes were red and her face tired and drawn. She looked a different creature from the rosy, exuberant girl Charles had met the day before. Callot was sober and nearly as subdued as his great-niece. He placed a cushioned and fringed chair for Charles between the other chairs, and they all sat quietly until Charles broke the silence.
    â€œMonsieur Callot, your servant says that Monsieur Henri Brion is not yet at home.”
    â€œNo. He is not.”
    â€œWhere do you suppose he is?”
    â€œNowhere I care to mention before my great-niece.”
    Charles decided that he would have to leave finding the elder Brion to Lieutenant-Général La Reynie, but before he could ask about Gilles, Isabel Brion spoke.
    â€œMartine is to be buried on Monday morning, maître . Her funeral Mass will be at Saint-Nicolas du Chardonnet, do you know it? It is just a little south of the Place. Will you—oh—but no, forgive me—” She colored and looked away, and Charles thought he knew why.
    â€œI know what is being said about her death, mademoiselle ,” he said gently. “But if my rector permits, I will be there.”
    M. Callot spoke from the flickering shadows on Charles’s other side. “And that which is being said, maître , do you swear it is false?”
    His great-niece gasped. “Uncle Callot! Be quiet! Of course it is false, you have only to look at him to know he tells the truth!”
    â€œI am not a young girl, Isabel, to have my mind made up by a handsome face.”
    Charles felt himself go as red as the flames in the fireplace. Thankful for the room’s dimness, he turned toward Callot. “I assure you, monsieur ,” he said evenly, “the Society of Jesus had nothing whatever to do with Mademoiselle Mynette’s death. You well know that there are always those ready to accuse us of any ill thing that happens.”
    Callot grunted. “But money is money. A significant sum of money, which more than a few would do much to have.”
    â€œIncluding your nephew, I understand.”
    The old man bridled at Charles’s riposte. “So you’ve learned more about the unhappy courtship my nephew forced on his son? Ah, well, it is true enough.”
    Charles decided that bluntness was the fastest way